Really, It's Just a Cold
by ghost-of-a-scarecrow
Summary: The Once-ler gets sick. What a wonderful way to start the day. Unfortunately, the Lorax is convinced that the Once-ler is more than 'just sick'. Oh joy of joys. Various POVs, no romance, no slash, no AU.
1. Chapter 1

I really didn't feel like getting out of bed this morning. Under the covers, it was warm. Out from under the covers... well, I didn't want to release myself from them to find out. It really didn't help matters that I had awoken with a throbbing headache, a sore throat and one very upset stomach. I coughed as I turned over, pulling the quilt up higher. Oh, and did I mention the fever? They're the worst. Your head feels all warm as though you're going to break out in a sweat any time, but you don't. Then the rest of you is just plain cold. I curled up to accommodate my aching stomach. Maybe a glass of water would do it good; it certainly couldn't make my throat feel any worse. I sat up and just stayed there for a few minutes, pondering whether or not it was worth it.

I pulled back the covers and shivered, though I knew the day was warm. Getting up and walking over to the sink was a lot easier than I would have thought, and I drank a half glass of the soothing water before making the trek back to the warmth of the sheets. I was just settling myself down when _he_ came along.

"Hey, Beanpole... uuh, why aren't you up?" the Lorax looked at me quizzically. I sighed. What did I expect? A day without having my comfortable privacy invaded? My head throbbed at every syllable he spoke.

"Would you mind speaking just a little bit quieter?" I groaned, burying my face in the pillow.

"I'll speak as loud as I want," he said defiantly.

"Go speak as loud as you want somewhere else."

"What, you got a problem with the way I'm talking? All I did was say hello."

"I'm sick," I said simply, removing my face from the pillow. I was surprised at how hoarse my voice sounded, but I really wasn't prepared for the strange look on the Lorax's face.

"Hey, what'd you do to your voice?" he asked.

"I told you, I'm sick," I answered once more, turning over under the covers to face away from him. I felt the mattress depress a bit when he jumped up on the bed behind me.

"What do you mean, sick?" It was my turn to be surprised. I turned over and looked at him incredulously.

"Really?" I asked. He nodded. He was sitting cross-legged on the opposite side of my bed, looking at me expectantly as though I could pull a simple answer out of thin air. Great, how was I going to explain this? I thought about it for a minute.

"It's when... um, well, you just basically don't feel good. Y'know, like when you get a fever and you don't want to get out of bed... and your throat gets sore and stuff like that." Wow, that was a terrible explanation.

"And you just want to go to _sleep_," I added as an afterthought, hoping that he'd take the hint. Of course, he didn't. He just sat there; he was probably trying to work out what I'd tried and failed to explain. I turned over again to face the wall, and was just nodding off when he asked,

"What's a fever?" I sighed. Really? Legendary guardian of the forest... speaks for the trees and all, and he didn't know what a simple common cold was? I was getting a bit frustrated trying to describe the things I couldn't find a precise definition for, so I snatched up his tiny orange hand and placed it on my forehead.

"_That's_ a fever?" he asked. I nodded and he brought his hand away. I once _again_ turned back over and pulled the quilt up to my ears, hoping to block out any further noise he might make in an attempt to appease my headache. Amazingly, after that, he said nothing at all, and I slowly drifted off into a fitful sleep.

When next I woke, I felt something warm leaning against my back. Looking over my shoulder, I saw the furry meatloaf using my back as a pillow, sound asleep. Next problem of the day: how to get up without disturbing the slightly annoying guardian of the forest. Very slowly, I pulled off the covers and shifted out from under them as quietly as I could. So far, so good. The floor was rather cold to my bare feet, but I ignored it for the moment and rummaged around for my robe. I brushed off a couple of dingy-smelling mothballs before slipping the fuzzy thing on. It was the same colour as my vest, but admittedly much warmer.

Walking over to the stove, I decided that I might as well start up a pot of soup... or at least broth. Now, where did I put the pots? After looking around for a bit, I found them balancing haphazardly on top of the fridge exactly where I _hadn't_ put them. Sighing was going to become my new hobby. I picked one up off of the top and stepped back, bracing myself for the inevitable din of pots clanging to the floor and the Lorax's yell of horror at being woken up so abruptly. Two seconds later...

CRASH!

AAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!

As my headache returned, I watched the Lorax's left arm shoot into the air, silently thanking my lucky stars that I hadn't been on the receiving end as before. I rolled my eyes and turned to set the pot I was holding on the element, clearing out the remains of a few Truffula Fruits as I did so. Perhaps if the Bar-ba-loots decided to eat them somewhere besides within my kitchenware, and perhaps if they stopped stacking everything in sight – including themselves – I'd have a lot more success in keeping track of the few things I could actually claim that I owned. After a few minutes of preparing the broth, it occurred to me that the Lorax hadn't said a word since he'd been awoken. I glanced back towards my bed to see him staring at me. I let it pass... for now.

"You want some soup?" I asked, acting as though I was oblivious to his gaze.

"Uh, sure," he said hesitantly. He'd said the exact same thing when I had offered pancakes the first time. He didn't know what they were, but refused to back down from the challenge of eating a strange human food. I turned back to the now-boiling liquid in the pot and added whatever somewhat fresh vegetables I could find that hadn't been commandeered by the Bar-ba-loots and Swomee-Swans. I could still feel him looking at me, and I tried very hard to ignore it. But seriously, it was getting a bit annoying. I turned to face him again.

"What?" I asked. "I'm not wearing pink, flowers, or bunnies, and I haven't screamed like a girl for at least two days, so why are you staring at me like that?"

"You're not bouncing off the walls," He said as though it were obvious.

"I'm not usually in the practice of bouncing off of flat vertical surfaces." He looked at me oddly.

"No, I mean you're being really slow," he clarified.

"Like I've said a few times now, I'm sick," I told him. That apparently didn't ease his mind on the matter. I just waved a dismissive hand and walked over to my dresser, pulling out my clothes, hat, and several small rocks. I'm sure Pipsqueak put them there. I decided against dressing for the moment; the comfort of my pajamas (stars, not bunnies) and the robe seemed just a bit more appealing. I brought a hand up to pinch the bridge of my nose and set the other hand on the dresser. I _really_ hated headaches.

"Why are you in here, anyway?" I asked.

"Oh, right, I forgot to tell ya; the Humming-Fish are teaching Pipsqueak to swim and he wants to show ya." He said. I smiled. I could only imagine what that would be like to watch.

"And is he any good at it?" I asked as I walked back towards the stove and found two relatively clean bowls stacked upon a pile of forks, spoons, and books.

"Uhhh, sort of..." the Lorax said with a hand tilted half-way in the air. "It depends on whether the Humming-Fish are holding him up or not." I laughed, then instantly regretted it when I broke into a coughing fit. The Lorax was on his feet and next to me in an instant.

"Hey, Beanpole, y'all right?" I nodded and took a deep breath. I straightened up and went back to pouring the two bowls of soup-like substance, hoping beyond all hope that the other forest creatures wouldn't smell it and come running. I handed one of the bowls to the furry meatloaf. I didn't bother giving him a spoon; partially due to the fact that I feared toppling the carefully balanced pile, and partially due to the fact that the Lorax wouldn't have used it anyway. He took the bowl from me and sniffed it tentatively. Deciding that it didn't smell poisoned, he took the smallest of sips. I could tell he wasn't sure about the taste, but I couldn't say that I was, either.

"You sure this isn't what's making you feel bad, Beanpole?" he asked.

I just rolled my eyes. All I'd been eating for the past week was pancakes because the forest animals liked them so much and somehow convinced me to make them for almost every meal. Not that I didn't like making them, or that I didn't like the taste of them, but I was silently thanking whoever cared to listen that they only ate one meal a day. They snacked on Truffula Fruits all other hours. I finished off my bowl of soup and set the dish aside. I took the half-finished bowl that the Lorax offered me and set it beside the other. He obviously hadn't liked it too much.

"Well," I said, a little more boisterously than I felt as I picked up the clothes I had gotten out, "why don't we go see how Pipsqueak's swimming lessons are going, shall we?" I opened the door for him, and the Lorax nodded and (thankfully) left my tent, but not before giving me yet another odd look. I once again passed it off and sluggishly pulled on my clothes.

I shielded my eyes as I stepped out. It was a beautiful day, but the sun seemed just a little bit brighter than usual, and the air just slightly thinner than I remembered from the day before. Of course, nothing had actually changed; it was just my body being far too over-sensitive. After letting my eyes adjust for a moment, I glanced around in search of something orange with a huge mustache. There he was. I almost tripped on a sunbathing Bar-ba-loot on my way towards the river – the Bar-ba-loot himself didn't even take notice of my fumbling feet as I quickly sidestepped to avoid him. When I had finally managed to get myself to the edge of the river, I sat down in the grass beside where the Lorax stood.

Pipsqueak was apparently having the time of his life splashing around in the river, now that he wasn't being carried away towards a waterfall. The Humming-Fish let go and he bobbed above the surface for a couple of seconds; waving his tiny arms and feet as fast as he could in hopes of staying afloat before he gradually started to sink. The Humming-Fish then snatched the tiny Bar-ba-loot by the arms before he could go under. Pipsqueak looked to me, a very big smile on his face. I gave him a big grin, and he seemed to consider that a very fitting reward for his efforts. He attempted swimming in my direction towards the bank, and the Humming-Fish released his arms to allow him to try it. A couple of seconds later and they were holding his arms again, guiding him towards the grass. I had to admit, it was adorable. I set my hand in the water and his tiny paws clung to my fingers as he wildly kicked his feet. I laughed and lifted him out, setting him down in the grass. He hobbled haphazardly on the spot for a minute, obviously not quite used to solid ground after swimming all morning. Clambering onto my lap, he stared at me with those huge eyes of his, smiling at his success. I offered him a marshmallow as a reward and he happily took it, gobbling it up in one bite. He gazed back at me expectantly when he finished, and I relented and gave him another. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the Lorax watching us with a pleased expression. Well, at least until I fell into another coughing fit. Pipsqueak dashed from my lap and sat beside me, looking up curiously and slightly frightened. The Lorax himself looked quite concerned. When the fit passed, I scratched Pipsqueak behind the ears and apologized, handing him another marshmallow. But the Lorax wasn't so easily appeased.

"Kid, there's something seriously wrong with ya," he said. I sighed.

"Are we going to go through this _again_?" I asked. "And don't you tell me that you don't know what coughing is, I'm sure you've heard it before."

"Yeah, okay, I'll drop it. For now," he said with a sideways glance. And he did drop the subject for the rest of the day. We went about our usual business, apart from my daily trek to town in a feeble attempt to sell my Thneed. Our 'usual business' consisted of a complete lack of structure in what we did. In other words, we basically goofed off the whole day; but by supper time, I was too tired to even bother eating. I simply changed into my (not bunny) pyjamas and fell fast asleep.

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><p><strong>AN: Please feel free to review, it's very much appreciated.**


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning I opened my eyes to see Pipsqueak curled up on my chest, fast asleep, and the Lorax once again using me as a pillow. I started coughing, but the little Bar-ba-loot showed no sign of noticing apart from stretching and curling himself up again, and the Lorax continued to snore away. They must have gotten used to it overnight. Looking around, I noticed that the other forest animals had decided to camp out here for the night. I coughed again. I was definitely feeling a lot worse than yesterday. There was no possible way I was getting up within the morning hours, so I closed my eyes and went back to sleep. Another harsh bout of coughing woke me up a second time, although now the small weight was off of my chest and the other Bar-ba-loots, Swomee-Swans, and Humming-Fish had vacated my residence. The Lorax, however, was still there. He was apparently attempting to cook something. Pancakes, I assumed, considering that's all he'd ever watched me make apart from soup, and I highly doubted he'd make that. He had somehow managed to pull a chair over to the stove and was fumbling with the large frying pan, almost falling off of the chair several times before managing to place it on the element.

I shook off the covers and sat on the edge of the mattress, placing a hand on my forehead. My fever had gotten worse overnight. The Lorax must have heard me moving, because he looked back over his shoulder and nearly dropped the large bowl he was holding when he lost his footing on the chair. He somehow managed to land square on his feet without dropping the object that was half his size.

"Hey, Beanpole, 'bout time ya got up," he said.

"Hm," was all I said in answer. I was still tired and feeling rather miserable. He seemed to sense this, and he watched me intently as I stood and found my way over to the sink, wetting a cloth and placing it over my burning forehead. Then I went back to my bed and flopped down. I was half-asleep within minutes, so I hardly noticed when he climbed up on the bed next to me and removed the wet cloth, feeling the temperature of my heated skin. I hardly noticed when he flinched away, replacing the cloth and hopping off the bed to dash outside. When he practically drowned me in freezing river water... I noticed. Sputtering, I bolted upright, coughing and spitting out mouthfuls of fishy-tasting water.

"_What_ was that for!" I gasped, wiping the water from my face and wringing out what I could of my hair. I coughed again as he answered.

"Your... fever-thing was really, really warm," he said. I placed a wet hand over my mouth to keep from letting my frustration get the better of me as the shock of being doused wore off.

"All right, all right... but I really don't need to be soaked right now, okay? That'll just make it worse, so if you don't mind, I'll just change and go back to sleep," I explained in as calm a voice as I could muster under the circumstances as I stood up shakily to change out of my very wet pajamas into something a little less dripping. After doing so, I slowly stripped the sheets from the mattress and replaced them, feeling the strength quickly seep out of me even through this simple action. I coughed again as I slipped back under the fresh covers and closed my eyes, still sensing the Lorax's gaze resting on me. I supposed that I'd have to get used to it, he hadn't shown any signs of letting me be so far. I seriously hoped I'd get over this cold soon; the fuzzy orange meatloaf seemed to be taking it a lot more seriously than needed.

When I finally heard him rummaging around by the stove again, I let myself relax. Well, as much as I could relax while a short, orange, furry guardian was experimenting with a hot element in a flammable tent... oh well. I couldn't stop him from trying even if I wanted to. A half-hour later, I was still resting peacefully in bed as the smell of extremely burnt batter filled the tent and the splat of said burnt pancakes on the floor made itself known as the Lorax attempted and failed to flip them. I half-opened my eyes. He was picking up a blackish-looking, flattish-looking piece of what I assumed to be pancake batter from the floor and setting it on a plate stacked with similar globs. I smirked, yawned, coughed, sniffed, and proceeded to roll over, closing my eyes. A moment later he was shaking me by the arm to wake me. I sighed and sat up against my pillow, coughing again as I did so.

"Here ya go, Beanpole, eat up!" The Lorax said as he placed the heaping plate of not-so-appetizing 'pancakes' on my lap. I wasn't very hungry... or enthusiastic about eating this particular food-like mass.

"Uh... thanks..." I said with a sort of half-smile that looked a little more like a wince as I stared at the plate, making no move to even try it. Luckily for me, Pipsqueak wandered in, soaked and a little bit wobbly. The little Bar-ba-loot must have been trying his hand at swimming again. When he spotted me sitting on the bed with the plate of blackened batter on my lap, he smiled and ran over, arms outstretched. He couldn't quite lift himself onto the bed, so the Lorax snatched him up around the waist and hoisted him onto the covers. He was still dripping wet, but he hardly seemed to notice, so I dried him off with a corner of the quilt as he dug into the plate of pancakes. He didn't seem to mind the fact that they were burnt to a crisp and yet somehow still gooey. The Lorax eyed me suspiciously, obviously wondering why I wasn't eating his masterpiece of the culinary arts. I gave him another awkward smile and shrugged. I was actually expecting him to tell me off for it, as was his custom, but he instead gave me an almost sympathetic look and went back to the stove to clean off the globs of gooey pancake mix from the element. I just stared after him in disbelief. What the heck was going through his head? My thoughts – and Pipsqueak's meal – were interrupted by another bout of hacking coughs. I clutched at my chest. It was really starting to hurt to cough so much.

Pipsqueak glanced at me worriedly, and I noticed the same expression mirrored on the Lorax's features when he turned from his duties.

"What?" I asked; voice scratchy. His look of worry instantly morphed into a passive expression.

"Nothin', just... startled me, that's all," he said, shrugging his shoulders and turning back to the stove. I have to admit that I was a bit exasperated at this point. I slid the plate of half-finished food off of my lap and set it beside Pipsqueak, patting him on the head as I did so. He looked at me for a moment before munching away at the doughy mounds. I settled back against the pillows and put a hand to my feverish forehead. There was something going on here that I wasn't seeing.

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><p><strong>AN: Hope this chapter was enjoyable. As always, reviews are very much appreciated. **


	3. Chapter 3

It had to be well into the afternoon by the time I gained enough resolve to drag myself weakly out of bed. Pipsqueak had curled up and fallen asleep beside me, and I had finally convinced the Lorax to leave me to myself for a while. He'd kept the door slightly open as he left so he could return if he wanted to, without all the hassle of asking the Bar-ba-loots to pile up outside so he could reach the handle. I really didn't mind, so long as his constant presence dissipated for an hour or so. Preferably, 'or so'. I didn't bother putting on my regular clothes; I just slipped the grey robe on over my pyjamas and wandered outside for some fresh air. The cool evening breeze felt good to my fevered head but made the rest of me shiver, and I coughed as I walked amongst the trees. My lack of energy and my apparent slow movements seemed to capture the attention of the Swomee-Swans and Bar-ba-loots; I could practically feel them staring at me as I wandered past. I ignored it as much as I could manage, but the nagging feeling that something about this was just _wrong_ continued to redirect my mind back to the issue.

Perhaps it was the fact that I'd never coughed this much before, never had a throat this sore before, never slept in this late before, and never felt so irritatingly weak in my life before; even when I had a cold.

I walked on for a while, following the lively twists of the river and admiring the colourful affect the setting sun had on the Truffula tufts. It really was a beautiful sight; like nothing I'd ever seen before. Now that I was here in the Truffula valley, I couldn't really imagine anything I'd want to leave it for. As I gazed up into the sky, I didn't really find it a big surprise that the Swomee-Swans nesting in the vibrant tufts of the Truffula trees were staring right back at me. The next bout of coughs hit me by surprise, and I quickly tried to cover it up with my arm as I bent over slightly to accommodate my lack of breath. The Swomee-Swans continued to stare, but now with a more troubled look in their eyes than I had ever seen them use.

Okay, no doubting it now, there was seriously something strange going through their little heads. I hugged myself against the slight chill as I searched for the one furry orange meatloaf that could tell me what the heck was going on. Five minutes later, I found him standing down by the river speaking quietly to some Humming-Fish, who listened intently. Their eyes were wide and somewhat sorrowful. I tried to snatch a word or two of what the Lorax was saying, but he noticed my approach before I could.

"H-hey, Beanpole," he said nonchalantly, but with the air of someone who's been caught in the act of gossiping about somebody by the very person they were talking about. Which, I might add, was most likely the case in this situation. The Humming-Fish turned to face me, laughing nervously, but still with that same sadness in their eyes. I sighed. Might as well come right out with it.

"What have you been telling them?" I asked tiredly. I didn't mean just the Humming-Fish. I was sure he'd been telling the Bar-ba-loots and Swomee-Swans the same thing – whatever it was – and by the expressions on all of their faces as of late, I was beginning to get an inkling as to what the rumor was really about.

"Nothin'," the Lorax denied quickly. He faltered a bit when I gave him a stern look, or as stern a look as I could give him in my present condition.

"All right, all right," he said, giving in. "I told 'em you're sick, that's all!" The Humming-fish were quick to nod their heads in agreement. I didn't believe them, and the Lorax must have caught on to the sentiment.

"I swear, that's all I said," he said, placing a hand over his heart and the other in the air. I sighed and collapsed into a sitting position in the grass. I still didn't believe him; the glances I'd been getting from the other forest animals kept me thinking otherwise. The Lorax sighed as well and sat down beside me.

"Look, kid, you said you were sick, and that's what I've told 'em. I don't mean t' be the one sayin' what's happening, but it didn't seem like you were gonna tell 'em yourself," he said.

"Tell them what; that I'm sick? Does it matter if they know? I'll be over it within a week, y'know. You're making a really big deal out of this, and it's really not necessary." I said in return, hand over my forehead.

"A big deal out of it? Isn't it a big deal?" The Lorax asked.

"No," I sighed.

"Dying isn't a big deal to you?" My head shot up at the question. The Lorax was looking at me in exasperation.

"Okay, _dying_? W-who said anything about dying?" I asked, matching his expression, albeit a little more nervously.

"You did."

"No I didn't, I said I was sick!"

"Isn't it the same thing?" He asked quietly. I pinched the bridge of my nose and sighed. I was silent for a while, but I could still feel the Lorax's gaze resting on me as he tried to read my body language.

"Anyway," he started, "that's why I asked you to clarify yesterday what you meant by 'sick', and..." I held up my hand. He stopped talking, taking the hint (for once) that I knew what he meant.

"We're obviously not on the same page, here," I said, speaking slowly and choosing my words carefully. "To me, when I willingly say that I'm sick, but don't seem to care about it too much... that usually means it's something simple; like a cold. If it is, then I'll be over it; nothing to worry about. Does that make more sense?" He nodded slightly, but then looked at me strangely like he couldn't quite figure something out.

"When the trees get sick," he said, standing to place a loving palm on the Truffula tree closest to him, "they don't get better. It takes a long time, but eventually they rot away and die." I gazed up at the tree he stood beside, understanding how this must look from his point of view. For all I knew, he had never encountered illness in any other form of life than trees, or had been away long enough to forget.

"Well, if it's any comfort," I said, my throat suddenly feeling very scratchy and dry, "I'm not dying." He didn't look convinced.

"Like I said, I'll be over it within a week. If I'm not, _then_ you can start worrying." I stood up and began walking back towards my tent. The Lorax followed me as I made my way slowly through the Truffula trees in silence. I could tell that he still hadn't completely accepted the idea that I was going to be fine. Unfortunately, I was starting to get the slightest hint of doubt in the matter myself. This was unlike any cold I had ever gotten before, but I wasn't about to tell this to the Lorax, he'd just freak.

We arrived at the door within a few minutes of walking. I had left it slightly open in case the Lorax had come by. If he saw it closed, he'd realize that I left, and my intention at the time had been to sneak out without him noticing. I opened it a bit wider to let the Lorax in first, and he grudgingly obliged, preferring to keep an eye on me as he passed into the tent. I took a step to follow, before yet another coughing fit hit me. This one was bad enough to make me lean against the doorframe, clutching my chest in an attempt at warding off the dull, stabbing pains that came with each sharp exhale. I slid down the frame until I was sitting, breathing heavily, as the Lorax ran over and gripped my arm tightly. I didn't comment on it. My throat and chest both burned from the fit, and I turned all my attention to controlling my breathing. I leaned my head back against the wood of the doorframe, eyes closed. After a few minutes, with no luck in the 'normal breathing' department, I opened my eyes and lifted my head to discover that the Lorax was still clutching my arm and staring at me.

"Like I said before, kid, there's something seriously wrong with ya," he said.

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><p><strong>AN: As always, please review, they're greatly appreciated.**

**Next Chapter: The Lorax's point of view**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Thank you to all who are reviewing! It lets me know that this story is being read and enjoyed. :D**

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><p><strong>Written from the Lorax's point of view.<strong>

This was bad. I knew he'd never admit it until it got a heck of a lot worse, but this was very, _very_ bad from my perspective. Something leapt in my chest when he started coughing this time. Those terrible, hacking coughs that left him gasping for air. He leaned far too heavily against the doorframe, and held his chest as though it might burst. I didn't think it would, but then, I wasn't an expert on human anatomy. This time he didn't seem to recover as he had before; he wasn't breathing right, and it bothered me to no end. He sat there for a while, head back against his domicile's doorframe. Where was the optimism? Where was the excitement, the energy? I read none of these things on his features anymore, and it reeked of illness.

Perhaps he was lying... maybe he really _was_ dying, but he just didn't want me to know. I couldn't bring myself to believe him when he said he'd be fine in a week, and I believed him much less after an episode like this. And when he opened his eyes to glance in my direction, I got the feeling he was starting to debate whether he even believed it himself.

"Like I said before, kid, there's something seriously wrong with ya," I said, in the vain hope that convincing him of what I thought to be the truth would somehow return him to better health. I'd seen it happen to my trees too often to let it happen to a human that – though I would never _ever_ admit it – had become my friend. He shook his head, and I moved aside to let him pass as he walked feebly inside. Again, where was that usual energy? I'm sure he was aware of this change, though why didn't he say anything about it? He barely paid heed to my gaze as he shakily walked over to the sink and drank some water from the tap. He downed a full two glasses of the stuff... the most I had ever seen him have in one sitting was a half-glass. He leaned on the counter for a moment, then slowly wandered back over to his bed and sat down on the edge of it. He stared absently at the ground for a few minutes. It took me a while to figure out what it was he was doing, but then it occurred to me that his breathing still wasn't quite right. He seemed to be having trouble with it, and had been since that last bout of coughing. I walked up to the bed and sat down beside him, my feet dangling over the edge. He probably didn't want to talk, and I wasn't going to force him. I waited just a little bit impatiently in silence for him to calm himself. At least, that's what I assumed he was doing.

The silence was broken by more of those hated racking coughs. It wasn't as bad as the last time, but still strong enough to make me nervous. His breathing seemed to get a little better after that, not by much, but at least it was improving.

"You sure you're okay, kid?" I asked. Immediately afterwards, I realized it was a stupid question. Of course he wasn't! And I had just told him not ten minutes ago that there was something serious going on. But he didn't seem to notice – or really didn't care – that the question was ridiculous. Instead, he simply nodded, took a deep breath, cleared his throat and insisted that all he needed was a good night's rest. I didn't believe it for a second, but I wasn't going to argue with him. I simply sat there diligently as he pulled up the covers and turned over onto his back, clearing his throat once more. I would have just fallen asleep where I sat, but I wanted to keep tabs on Beanpole's condition. If this was anything like the trees, he only had about 100 years left. I considered this notion for a while. How long did humans generally live, anyway? The latter question was punctuated by another harsh cough, but when I turned I found him sleeping, his breathing relatively back to normal.

I allowed myself to relax for a while, trying not to think about the newfound heaviness of my eyelids, or how tired my limbs felt. Alas, avoiding these thoughts meant that the ones I actually lingered on involved the day's earlier events. This didn't make me feel any less tired. For example; who knew pans were so heavy? Like _that_ question wasn't going to make my limbs feel any less asleep. I changed the content of my reverie. Who knew that bowls were so big? In the Once-ler's arms, it seemed like a moderate-sized bowl, but the minute I tried to pick it up... well, let's just say that I was surprised at the immensity of the thing. I mean, I realize I'm short, but I'm not _that_ short. From there, my thoughts wandered to the pancakes themselves. Personally, I thought they looked pretty decent. Pipsqueak seemed to like them well enough. Then again, Bar-ba-loots ate _anything_. I was a bit disappointed that Beanpole didn't at least _try_ one. I comforted myself at the time with the knowledge he was really sick and probably couldn't, but now I wasn't so sure that was the reason. Maybe he actually didn't like my pancakes, even after all the time I spent making them!

I glanced suspiciously over at the sleeping form beside me. He looked so cozy, bundled up in the blanket, the quilt revealing its many different colours as the moonlight glazed the rise and fall of the Once-ler's breathing. Pipsqueak wandered in, then. He was just as concerned about his human companion as I was, though he didn't seem to understand the gravity of the situation. I wasn't sure that I did anymore, either. I lifted the tiny Bar-ba-loot up to my side and he crawled over my legs to curl up in the crook of the Once-ler's arm. I couldn't suppress the small smile that took over my features as – even in his sleep – the Once-ler kid set gentle hand over Pipsqueak's head, and the tiny Bar-ba-loot snuggled into it, yawning contentedly. I yawned myself, glancing at the alarm clock that stood to the side of the bed. I couldn't read it, but Beanpole had told me that it was used to tell time.

Tell time what?

My eyes slowly drooped shut, but I spared one more glance at the peacefully quiet form to the left of me before closing them. He seemed fine for now, so I deemed it safe to get just _a few_ minutes' sleep.

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><p><strong>AN: Please let me know what you think! I'm a little apprehensive about how this chapter turned out, as I've gotten used to writing from the Once-ler's POV… so I'm not so sure that everything turned out quite right. Anyway, hope you enjoyed it :D **


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: My evil school has suddenly decided that the creative writing course for next year is cancelled for the sole reason of "We're one person short of the required amount of people to make up a class." It's a ludicrous reason, and I'm not happy about it. On a happier note, as a result of this unfortunate decision, I'm just going to have to write more fanfiction on my own time for practice. :D Yay! Therefore, I dedicate this chapter to the absurdity of my wonderfully nonsensical school.**

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><p><strong>Lorax's POV<strong>

Of course, I woke up when the daylight began to shine through the windows. What a surprise. I sighed and sat up, stretching out the kinks in my fluffy orange arms. Okay, I admitted it, I'm fluffy, but that changes nothing! Pipsqueak was still curled up in the midst of the many folds of the quilt beside the Once-ler, but the Beanpole himself was sitting up against the pillows. He had carefully balanced a steaming mug between his fingers, but he wasn't drinking it. In fact, he wasn't doing anything at all. He just _sat there_, staring off into nothing and breathing in the steam from the mug. I hate to admit it, but I kind of panicked. Just a _little_. Absolutely nothing as extreme as jumping up and waving a hand in front of his face until he gave me a stern look, nothing like that. He went back to concentrating on nothing as I sat down and watched him suspiciously. With another sidelong glance at me, he sighed and set the mug on his lap. I expected him to say something at that point, but he simply returned my gaze with an expectant air.

It took me a few seconds to figure out that he was waiting for me to say something myself. Unfortunately, I couldn't really remember what it was I was going to say... was I even going to say anything? So I settled on stating the obvious.

"You're up already," I said. He nodded patiently. He didn't seem very annoyed with me so far. The last two days, he had had this look about him that suggested I was being a nuisance... not that I really cared, but today his demeanor suggested that perhaps he didn't mind my company. Either way, I wasn't going to push my luck quite yet. He coughed slightly and cleared his throat.

"You feelin' any better?" I asked, hopping from the bed and rummaging around for that huge bowl. No harm in trying my hand at pancakes again, right? I found it stashed away in the farthest corner of the topmost cupboard, slightly hidden behind a few other objects that didn't quite look like they belonged there. I got the sneaky suspicion that Beanpole had purposely hidden it while I was still asleep. I gave him a backwards glance. He was watching me a little nervously, but when I pointed up to the bowl, he smiled guiltily and stood to walk over. I watched him carefully as he turned on the back element of the stove before reaching up to remove the bowl from its hiding spot. Just to annoy me, he set it down on the counter just out of my reach, then pointedly ignored my mock-angry glare as he set a kettle on the element.

"Ya didn't answer my question," I said, pushing a chair up to the counter. "I asked ya how you were feelin'." He shook his head, and I took this as an indication that he wasn't any better. I clambered up onto the chair and pulled the bowl closer, rummaging around for the flour. After a great effort of searching, I came up short. Beanpole must have hidden that, too. I tapped him lightly on the shoulder and crossed my arms when he turned to me. He looked at me innocently, with a slightly quizzical expression thrown in.

"C'mon, Beanpole, tell me where it is," I said, tapping my foot. He grinned to himself and shook his head. Just like 'im. Stubborn. I rolled my eyes and expanded my search to cover the rest of my friend's domicile. I pulled the chair around the room to search the higher places that I couldn't reach after exhausting all lower-to-the-ground hiding spots. I finally found it stuffed in one of the pillows on his bed. How in the world had I not noticed it there before? I pulled out the bag and held it up triumphantly as the Once-ler kid smiled and rolled his eyes. Now to find everything else...

I hate to say that it took me half the morning to find everything he'd hidden, owing to the fact that most of it was in rather high, unreachable places that I'd never think to look. I still managed to find it all, though, and I set myself to work. The pancakes were cooking nicely; their outsides beginning to turn a bit black, but they were still – as of yet – within the parameters of the 'reasonably well-done' category. Anyway, they looked gooey on the inside. I was sure that wasn't supposed to happen. I'd just keep them in the pan a little longer. I could hear Beanpole cough every once in a while from where he had gone back to sitting up against the pillows of his bed, breathing in the steam from the mug of hot water he held between his fingers. It was rather odd behaviour, but the kid himself had proven on many occasions to be a little on the odd side. Still, he was sick. I had to take that into account, so I asked him about the mug. He didn't answer right away... actually, he didn't answer at all. He simply continued to stare at the air in front of him as though he hadn't heard.

"Hey, Beanpole!" I practically shouted, making him start in surprise and nearly drop the steaming mug. He looked at me in slight exasperation as he recovered.

"What's with the mug?" He glanced down at the mug, then back to me, looking as though he was trying very hard to figure out a way to answer my question believably. He cleared his throat before saying something that was nearly inaudible; after which he broke into a pretty bad coughing fit. I hopped down from the chair on which I stood and dashed over to the bed, leaping up and discovering that I was completely at a loss concerning what I should do next. So I patted him lightly on the back until the fit passed, then noted with a prick of fear that his breathing had gone thin once again. I helped him to sit up straight, and he leaned wearily against the pillows with a hand on his chest. After a few minutes, he took a drink of the now lukewarm water in the mug and leaned forward again.

I didn't realize I was staring at him until he glanced at me and smiled to some extent, indicating that he was fine. His smile remained as he turned and pointed – amused – towards the stove. I glanced in the direction that he indicated, and Beanpole laughed silently at the horrified look my face. The pancakes! The whole pan had literally burst into raging flames, only contained by the perimeter of the pan itself. I darted for the sink, pouring a large measure of water into a cup and dumping it over the fire. A big cloud of steaming smoke rose into the air, making my eyes water as the fire died. When that was taken care of, I turned back to the Once-ler and eyed him warily. His breathing seemed a bit better, but there was still that little something new that made me feel a bit uneasy: He hadn't said a word all day.

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><p><strong>AN: Thanks for reading, hope it was enjoyable. Reviews always welcome!**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Thank you to those who are reviewing! I've decided in this chapter to explore a bit more of the Lorax's usual daily life. Read, enjoy, and let me know if ya liked it! Cheers!**

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><p><strong>Lorax's POV<strong>

Laryngitis. What the heck was laryngitis? Beanpole had told me that was what he had; well, not _told_ me per say. More like scrounged around for a piece of paper and a pen for a while before scribbling it down. It took me quite a long time to decipher what it said, but I eventually made out the odd word. _Laryngitis._

Beanpole was curled up amongst the covers of his bed, sleeping peacefully. Well, at least as peacefully as he could while coughing and clearing his throat intermittently. I sat beside him, legs crossed and mind muddled. He had written on the note that laryngitis wasn't deadly unless it got a lot worse and, as a result, turned into... some other strange word I was still trying to figure out. The piece of paper was suddenly snatched from my grip. Pipsqueak was seated in front of me, staring at the paper as though he was trying to read it. I half-smiled and gently pried the paper from his tiny paws, studying the odd word once more. It started with a _p_, then an _n_... how was I supposed to know how to pronounce that? _Pn_... what an odd way to start a word. I gave up trying to say it after the first twenty-six tries. All I really needed to know was that the Once-ler kid wasn't going to die unless the hard-to-pronounce word _laryngitis_ morphed into the impossible-to-pronounce word that starts with _pn._

I set the paper down and patted Pipsqueak on the head. He smiled that adorable smile and then went to curl up next to the slightly shivering Beanpole.

I still didn't really know what to think about all this. Beanpole said he'd be fine, but all the evidence in his demeanor as of late suggested otherwise. This 'fever' thing; it still wasn't gone. The sore throat that he had finally admitted was the worst he had ever had remained in existence. The constant coughs and the intermittent breathing difficulties... oh, and did I mention the whole 'not being physically able to talk' thing? It frustrated me to no end. I thought back to my initial worries, the strange lack of energy he'd had when this sickness first sprung up. It was worse now, and that was probably the one thing that concerned me the most.

I sighed and got down from where I sat on the bed. I instructed Pipsqueak to tell me _immediately_ if anything at all changed. The little Bar-ba-loot nodded. I didn't really want to leave, but I still had my duties in the forest to attend to. I reluctantly walked outside, breathing in the fresh evening air. I wandered idly through the trees, keeping an eye out for anything remotely unusual about the forest's general vibe. It all seemed relatively normal so far; but then, my mind was somewhat elsewhere. I wandered down to the river to check on the Humming Fish. They were busy trying to scare each other by pulling odd faces and swimming around like some sort of fish-zombies. I couldn't suppress my smile of amusement. Yep, they were fine.

Next, the Swomee-Swans. I found most of them circled around something lying in the grass. I approached cautiously, not wanting to disturb them if the thing was an egg; I knew how protective they were when one was about to hatch. Luckily, they took my approach in stride, and actually let me come close. The small object in the grass was indeed an egg. The little orange-speckled thing was just beginning to crack, wobbling around as the kid inside tried desperately to free itself. One of the Swomee-Swans nudged the egg with her beak – obviously the mother. The surface cracked a bit more, then ceased to move at all. I could feel the small ruffle of tension amongst the adult Swans. With a sudden loud splinter, the egg burst open and there sat a dazed little Swan, eyes half-crossed and looking a little bit dizzy. I grinned at the sight. No wonder Swomee-Swan kids weren't so bright; they used their soft little skulls to break out of their eggs. I gave the mother a high-five before I left and wandered off to find the various Bar-ba-loots that enjoyed scattering themselves in hard-to-find areas.

I spotted Pipsqueak's uncle reclining peacefully in the tuft of a Truffula tree, calmly eating the Truffula fruits that were piled in a pyramid on his stomach. Another group of Bar-ba-loots were busy teaching a small cub to climb, while many more romped and played among the rocks and trees with careless glee. The Bar-ba-loots were doing great, no need to worry about them. I ventured deeper into the forest, keeping tabs on where I was and the respective state the area was in. After quite a trek, I came upon a rare Blue-tufted Truffula tree. I had always been appreciative of their particular beauty, often standing only slightly smaller than the other trees, but just as magnificent. The deep blue value of their tufts extended into a lucid, shining turquoise around the edges as the sun shone through, illuminating the grey of their trunks with a watery hue. I couldn't say I had ever seen anything so tranquil before. I would have to tell Beanpole about it... actually, better still, _show_ him once he felt well enough to walk this far.

I placed a hand on the smooth, grey trunk of the tree, closing my eyes and listening. It was content with its lot, and was making an effort to convey this satisfaction as well as it could while rooted to the spot.

"You're doing a great job," I whispered, then opened my eyes. I looked around for a moment before turning to walk back. I had been away for well over two hours, I should've returned a while ago.

It was a rather long walk, but when I came upon the tree that Pipsqueak's uncle was still reclining lazily in, I found everything to be just as it was when I left. Well, it was _almost_ the same. There was that new Swomee-Swan kid trying his hand at flapping his wings, and very proud mother attempting to teach him how. The Humming Fish had ceased their game of zombie-fish and had traded it up for something altogether more ambitious – land-tag. I found a group of exhausted Bar-ba-loot adults resting around a tree, on top of which a proud little cub sat happily dropping Truffula fruits on the adults below. This... this was normal.

By the time I reached the Once-ler kid's place, I was a bit tired, I'll admit. I pushed open the door and ambled in, glancing towards the bed as I made my way to the sink for some water. Beanpole was still fast asleep, and Pipsqueak was as alert as a slumbering Bar-ba-loot cub could be. I downed a glass of water before walking back over to the bed and hopping up onto the mattress, settling myself back. I tried and failed once more to read the word that started with _pn_, deciding for at least the tenth time that day that it was unpronounceable. I'd have to ask Beanpole how it was supposed to be said when he woke up, although I have no idea how he'd tell me with no voice.

I listened to his breathing for a few minutes, slightly nervous that at any second it might hitch and he'd be gasping for air again. But it sounded fine for now; only broken by the occasional light cough. With Pipsqueak snuggled so close to his back it would surprise me if the little Bar-ba-loot failed to notice anything strange in the near future, anyway. So I allowed my eyelids to close, well aware that I'd fall asleep no matter how hard I might try not to.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Yet another installment of this particular fanfiction. Since I haven't written from the Once-ler's point of view for a few chapters, I thought I'd go back to him for a chapter or two.**

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><p>Loud, incessant snoring and a headache as a result was a wonderful way to wake up in the morning. I appreciated the Lorax's company – granted – but it sometimes got a bit trying. The furry meatloaf was still sleeping far too soundly to my right, but Pipsqueak seemed to have woken up with me. The tiny Bar-ba-loot was always right there when I opened my eyes as of late. I patted him on the head and scratched behind his ears while I sorted myself out. My throat was so dry it burned like the sun; that was a complete exaggeration, but the general sentiment was the same. I cleared it and swung my legs over the side of the bed, feeling the odd coldness of the room lash out at my skin as I walked across to the sink for a drink. I scrounged around for a while before I found a glass hidden under a stack of bowls. Couldn't the Bar-ba-loots find a different home to destroy for a while? I was a little bit testy at the moment.<p>

Laryngitis wasn't so bad though, y'know, apart from the constant throat discomfort, the odd pains that sprouted up every once in a while, the occasional lack of breath and the incessant coughing. Other than that: not so bad. I didn't help matters, though, that the Lorax couldn't read very well. He'd gotten the hang of a few words and simple phrases when I started teaching him a week and a half ago. Apparently, the written language had changed a lot since last he had been here. He told me that the spoken language wasn't any different, though, which accounted for his fluency in English.

I glanced towards the snoring furry meatloaf. He was still completely zonked out, the piece of paper I had given him earlier clutched in one hand. I got the feeling there were at least a couple of words on there that he hadn't figured out; otherwise he would've dropped it off somewhere already.

I sighed and turned back to the sink, coughing as I did so. I felt like my knees would buckle if I continued to stand for much longer, so I pulled up the chair the Lorax had been using to reach the stove and sat down. I drank a full glass of water before coughing again. I supposed that this bout of laryngitis wouldn't have been so annoyingly draining had it not been a result of a cold; the effects of which I was still feeling. I really hoped it wouldn't develop into pneumonia; laryngitis was bad enough without antibiotics or throat lozenges. I determined to think that such a rare occurrence would fail to befall me, though I got the feeling that if I decided I wouldn't get pneumonia, I probably would. I didn't really know what I would do if such circumstances as those were to arise.

My vision sharpened slightly as if coming out of a trance, and I realized I had been staring a hole straight through the floor. A hole straight through a furry orange foot standing over the floor to be precise. I glanced up and met the Lorax's eyes. It was apparent that he wasn't quite sure what to think. Nor was I. I hadn't even noticed him approach. I cleared my throat and stood, stumbling slightly at the sudden change in altitude. The Lorax held one of my legs steady with a hand as I braced myself against the counter.

"How ya feelin' today, kid?" he asked, a slight note of hesitant sarcasm in his voice. I rolled my eyes and half-smiled, trying to indicate that my reaction was all in fun. I pointed at the note he still held in his hand, silently inquiring if he had understood it. He glanced at the note as though he had forgotten it was in his hand, then clambered into the chair to set it face-up on the counter. I couldn't help noticing that even up on the chair he was only about half my height.

"I can't figure out this word," he admitted a little grudgingly, pointing to show me which one. The way he jabbed his finger at it told me it had been causing him a fair bit of annoyance. I held up a finger to tell him to give me a minute, then took another drink of water before making my way over to the desk to scavenge around for a pencil. When I found one sticking out of the dirt in my cactus's planter, I waved him over. He hopped down from the chair and pushed it towards the desk, handing me the paper. Okay, how was I going to do this? I obviously couldn't just say it outright. I'd have to spell it out on the paper. Pneumonia. "_PN_," that was probably what was causing him the most grief, so I scribbled out the _P_ and rewrote the _N_ underneath. "_EU_" wasn't the best arrangement of letters I had ever seen either. I sounded it out in my head, then wrote down _E W_ beside the _N_. The rest was easier to convey in simple paper pronunciations, and I soon had a version of the word that would most likely be readable by any kindergartener that knew their basic ABCs.

N E W M O W N Y A

I passed the paper back to him, and he studied the new letters for a moment before sounding it out verbally. I nodded when he looked at me to confirm that he had said it right.

"What's pneumonia?" he asked, trying out the word once again. He handed the paper back to me.

_Worse than this._ I wrote. He took the paper and spent six seconds reading it. I had gotten into the habit of counting how long it took him to figure out a sentence, monitoring his progress. Four days ago it would have taken him ten seconds to read three words that he hadn't ever seen on paper before. He learned very quickly, but I suppose that shouldn't have been a surprise considering that he was a legendary guardian and all.

Speaking of the legendary guardian, he gave me yet another of those odd, almost worriedly condescending looks. I still had no idea how he managed to pull those looks off, but it usually seemed to work. It was as though he was silently boring his thoughts into my head. The very same head, mind, that was aching quite incessantly. I walked back over to my bed and sat down, resting the palm of my hand on my forehead. The fever wasn't quite so bad, but every other conceivable part of me felt worse. Pipsqueak wandered over to me from his previous perch on the end of the bed, where he had been watching the goings-on with interest. He gazed curiously up at me as my breathing started to strain once again. The Lorax walked over and climbed up on the bed beside me, placing a comforting hand on my arm. I got the funny feeling that the thought of me dying was creeping back into his mind, but I couldn't think on it now. Wait, forget thinking on it, I couldn't really think at all.

Without the slightest warning, the room began to go hazy around the edges, and I felt a bit lightheaded. I was sure the Lorax was saying something, but all I could hear was the pounding of my headache and the strained breaths that managed to escape my lungs. The orange fuzz ball was shaking my arm, I could tell, but it did nothing to prevent me from collapsing back on the covers. I felt Pipsqueak climb up onto my chest and nudge my chin with his nose. I breathed a little better when his small weight was lifted gently off by the Lorax, but it didn't stop the odd cold fear from rising into my chest as I closed my eyes and coughed. I couldn't open my eyes after the coughing ceased; nor could I hear very well the muffled, anxious voice of the Lorax when he said;

"Y-you're gonna be all right, kid."

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><p><strong>AN: Hope you enjoyed it, and please, let me know what you would think about a chapter from Pipsqueak's point of view... I'm not sure that it'd go over well, so I would very much like to know your opinion before I write it. Thank you.**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: I'll make up a sort of new phrase by saying that this is a 'ghost chapter': there if you want it to be; not there if you don't. It's from Pipsqueak's point of view, and it's basically just a bit of an insight into the little Bar-ba-loot's thoughts on the situation. So it's pretty much a rather short filler chapter, and not a lot happens. But it was... interesting... to write, so I hope you enjoy it!**

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><p><strong>Pipsqueak's POV<strong>

I expressed my concern to the best of my ability, but it only resulted in my imminent removal from his side when I tried to help in the task of getting him up. Unfortunately, the Lorax lifted me off my feet and set me down a bit further away as he tried to shake his friend to awareness, asking what was wrong, what he should do. There was no answer from my troubled human. I crouched quietly behind a fold in the sheets as I tried desperately to keep myself from snuggling up to him; which was the only way I could express my own version of a futile attempt at comfort. I didn't know what was wrong, but something was definitely not _right_.

I had felt the air of sickness emanating from my friend not a few days ago, and had made sure to check up on him every day. He seemed grateful for my presence, and I was just as happy with his. There's nothing like a warm, cuddly human to scratch your fur and keep you company... and the marshmallows were a cheerfully accepted bonus. Marshmallows were so light and fluffy, and the thought of them filled my mind with joy. I could swear that the little white squishy things contained mystical powers that existed for the sole purpose of making me cheery.

A desperate cry brought me back to the present where my marshmallow-giving human was coughing and struggling for breath. He didn't open his eyes again, so I assumed he must have gone to sleep, but the odd pace of breathing and the lack of colour in his face suggested otherwise. Why was he in such a bad way? I turned my eyes questioningly to the Lorax. He glanced at me, sadly conveying his own thoughts on the matter before turning back to the relatively still form of my human.

"Y-you're gonna be all right, kid," he said, but I could tell he didn't know for sure. His confident voice was laced with a sort of sad... ness. Sadness, that was it. Maybe. I really had to start learning the basics of verbal cues. My Uncle Martin was trying to teach me, but it was a lot harder than not bothering at all. I couldn't even speak out loud, for goodness sake! Sometimes I thought Uncle Martin was a bit odd in such ways; he seemed more interested in everything he didn't understand than the rest of us.

I crawled cautiously out from behind the blanket folds, hesitating slightly. I was a little bit frightened that my human might pop up at any moment and scare the fur off my back, but the look on my Lorax friend's face told me that such a thing was not about to occur. My eyes widened as I got closer, a familiar picture cropping up in my mind. I saw the riverside; the dark, calm night that had been so rudely awoken by the earlier commotion I had accidentally instigated. My family, the Humming-Fish and the Swomee-Swans stood off to the side as the Lorax used a couple of my cousins to wake my dying human up. He was fine afterwards... wouldn't it work again? I walked over to the Lorax's side, leaning against him with a complete disregard for what he might think about it. He was startled out of his thoughts and jumped a bit, but relaxed once he realized it was me. I was cute enough that he really didn't care (yes, I'll admit I know I'm adorable). Even compared to him – the mystical guardian of the forest – I was very small – only about half of his height. My human friend, however, was a big, friendly, skinny giant. A very _sick,_ big, friendly, skinny giant to be precise. I was startled out of my thoughts by the Lorax's rough but gentle voice. I couldn't tell if he was talking to me or to himself, so I just sat and listened with a light air of not listening at all.

"I can't even tell what's wrong with 'im," he said. "He says he's got laryngitis, whatever that is. It's not lookin' so good, Pipsqueak." When I heard my name I perked up, showing him that I was being attentive.

"This is wrong..." he continued after a pause, the determined hardness I detected in his voice was smoke screening some odd emotion I couldn't figure out. He swallowed hard, saying no more. I nuzzled into his arm and he scratched me absentmindedly behind the ears. I felt his tenseness ease a bit, but apart from letting him take comfort in the fact that I was here to give help when needed, there wasn't much more I could do for his mood.

That part was up to my human.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Okay, well, I haven't updated in a while. That's obvious. So here's the next extremely late chapter. I feel guilty about it being so short considering that I haven't written anything on it in a while, but… ya, I don't really have much of an excuse for that. I'll try to get the next chapter up a lot faster. (By a lot, I mean a **_**LOT**_**) So read, enjoy, and let me know what you think of it!**

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><p>"Chet! Brett! You boys better be getting back inside now, y'hear?" I called out into the quickly falling darkness of the fields. Those boys were going to be the death of their poor mama. What were they doing out at this hour anyway?<p>

"Chet!"

"What?" The question came from no more than a meter away, but I wasn't about to let their close proximity ruin my recent pleasure in screaming at them.

"What are you doing out at this time o' night! Curfew was hours ago!"

"But mama, we don't got a curfew," Brett answered logically. I still didn't care. I placed a sweet lilt in my voice as I answered him. That always seemed to work the best when I wanted them scared.

"It doesn't matter if you've got one or not, honey, you better be getting yourselves right back in the house now if you want to sleep in your own beds instead of the barn loft with the chickens." That got 'em. They scurried right through the door like a rabid hound was on their tails. Yep, that's the way t' handle 'em. I slammed the door shut as I turned back into our small farmhouse. Even though we barely made enough to survive on, the decor was rather lavish. I'm a lavish-loving woman, so I absolutely must have my furs. At least I didn't have an extra mouth to feed anymore. Not that little Oncie ate much anyway, but at least his absence was an improvement.

I sat down at the kitchen table, inspecting my nails as the boys ran up to their respective rooms. The quiet of the night was peaceful; the only sound that bothered to grate on my eardrums was those damn crickets chirping. I sat reveling in my calm when there came a sharp, tired knock at the door. Who would be calling at this hour? Maybe it was just another stray cat to scare off. A lot o' those seemed to come 'round lately. I stood grudgingly from my comfortable chair and made my way over to the door.

I opened it. There was no one there, so I slammed it once again. Not two seconds later came another knock. All right, I couldn't have heard wrong twice. I swung open the door, glaring straight out into the night. Still no one there. I felt a light tug on the cuff of my jeans. Looking down, I shrieked at the top of my lungs, calling for my boys to come down and get rid of that... thing! I threw the door closed at Brett and Chet came running down the stairs, half in a panic. They swung the door back open, bursting outside, and I could hear the scuffling of feet and the yells of the furry orange creature that had dared to taint my home with his... oddness as they chucked it back out into the night.

Chet walked back in with a grin plastered to his features as Brett followed. They swiped their hands on their jeans in a mock action of wiping them off, then wandered back upstairs. Well, that would teach the orange thing a lesson. It only took the boys a couple of weeks to learn to fear my wrath. Animals usually learned a lot faster. I was just settling down when another knock sounded at the door. It couldn't be. I slowly made my way over, cautiously turning the knob. I didn't expect the sudden shove as the door moved inwards, pushing me back. The orange thing stormed into the house, covered in mud and fuming.

"Now you listen here, lady..." he sputtered at me. What an impish little brat!

"Get out of my house this minute you blasted creature! How highly do you think of yourself just to run in here like you own the place? This is _my_ house, and you got no right to be here! Get _out_!" The orange creature blinked at me, mouth half open as the words caught in his throat. I was proud of myself for creating such a reaction, but I kept my features molded into a look of fury as I pointed to the open door. The creature blinked again, this time adopting a calm, almost smug expression.

"How highly do you think of _yourself_, lady?" He asked, crossing his arms. I was taken aback at such an impudent suggestion. I stood dumbly for a minute or two before regaining my previous mindset.

"GET OUT!" I screamed. This brought Brett and Chet running back down the stairs, pausing at the bottom to take in the scene, unsure of how to react. The orange creature stood for a moment, sizing me up. This just made me even more furious.

"Your kid's sick." He said simply. All anger vanished, instantly replaced by confusion.

"What?"


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Well, here's the long-awaited next chapter! Hope it's up to par. I actually found that I enjoy writing for Brett and Chet, considering that there wasn't much screen time for them in the movie and I could pretty much make up their personalities. In any case, they might be a bit OOC depending on how you interpreted their film behaviour, but I always thought they'd be a bit smarter than they look. Anyhow, read, review and enjoy!**

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><p>I sighed in exasperation. I really couldn't help it at this point. The lady with the dead animal around her neck disgusted me, I'll admit. She just stood there dumbly for a minute as I waited for a more elaborate answer than the indecisive "what" she'd thrown at me moments before. A strange noise made its presence known from the back of the room, where one of the terrible twins elbowed the other in the side to keep him quiet.<p>

"Sick?" the woman asked. I turned my gaze back to the freaky lady. "Yes, sick." I answered.

"Humans get sick all the time, you furry little meatloaf!" I cringed at the nickname. I didn't care if the Once-ler said it, but it sounded alien and kind of evil coming from anyone else's mouth. "He'll get over it!"

I couldn't say that this information was very comforting. Beanpole had already told me the exact same thing, and I was starting to get suspicious that he'd had that notion drilled into his head by his mother. He was definitely _not_ okay, and from what I'd seen so far, he wasn't going to get better any time soon.

I shook my head in answer to the woman's explanation. She stared at me like I was just another dumb animal that needed a scolding.

"Lady," I said, "he's not gonna get over it without some help, he's got... uhhh..." I hesitated as I tried to remember the word. "Larni... laring... lagintitis...? No, that's not it..." I muttered. The woman was glaring at me as she waited for an answer.

"Laryngitis?" I looked up in surprise at the small voice that answered. One of the twins was looking at me expectantly and the other was curiously doing the same.

"Yeah, yeah that's the word." The twins glanced at each other. By now my focus was entirely on them.

"Momma?" the one on the right asked hesitantly. Their mother glared at him. "Uh, maybe we should..."

"No, he can take care of himself. An' who's saying that this orange thing's to be trusted? We don't even know _what_ he is. Now go on back up to your rooms like good boys." And she waved them off. Great, I thought I'd been making some headway. The kid on the left began to walk slowly upwards, but the one who'd spoken remained where he was.

"Chet, you get on up there this instant!" the lady hollered. I'm a bit ashamed to reveal this outburst made me jump a bit. Chet didn't flinch; he just walked calmly up the stairs – he must've been used to that sort of thing. He looked back at me before he was completely out of sight, and I mouthed "out the window" to him. He gave the slightest nod.

I looked back at his mother. She was _not_ happy. I laughed nervously, backing towards the door slowly as she took a step forward. I didn't count on being unable to reach the handle. I smiled weakly, facing the dangerously quiet lady as I leaned hard against the door. I was in for it.

Then the impossible happened. The door gave way completely, and I tumbled backwards as it swung open. To my complete and utter surprise, it closed again the second I was outside and I was suddenly snatched up by the scruff to be carried around the corner of the house and out behind the tool shed, a hand over my mouth the entire way. What the heck was happening? I could honestly say that this wasn't on my nightly agenda. I was released to fall to the ground, and I staggered back to my feet immediately, ready to really chew out the guy who did that. I stopped. The Chet kid was leaning against the back of the tool shed beside me. Thinking about it, I realized that he did kind of save me from his mother's wrath, so I let my discomfort at being carried like that pass. I waited in silence for him to say something, but he seemed to be listening for something else instead. A few minutes later, I heard footsteps approaching our current position. Chet pushed himself from his place against the tool shed and wandered around the corner and out of sight. I was about to follow when he came back, walking alongside his twin brother. His brother was carrying a sort of knapsack over his shoulder. They stopped in front of me expectantly, and I nodded in acknowledgement of their help, before motioning for them to follow.

All three of us were quiet until we were well away from the farmhouse. I especially was not keen on alerting their mother to our current position in the darkness as we walked. Who knows what would happen if she found us? Even by the time the sun began to peek its weary face over the horizon, we remained silent. Whether this was still from fear of being followed or just because we really couldn't think of anything to say, I wasn't quite sure. Our journey would've been a lot quicker had we been able to go back the same way I had come – by Swomee-Swan – but the swans wouldn't have been able to lift my two travelling companions. They occasionally swapped the backpack between each other without a word, and I realized that living with a mother like that, they'd have to have a pretty developed brotherly dynamic just to keep them somewhat sane.

We walked on as the day continued, coming across a Truffula tree or two. Then for the first time since we'd started, one of them spoke.

"What're those?" Chet's brother asked. I had yet to figure out his name.

"Truffula trees," I answered proudly.

"Oh." They continued to admire them as we walked by.

"How bad is it?" Chet asked. Though he didn't specify, I knew exactly what he was talking about.

"He was pretty well out of it when I left yesterday," I said in return. Chet and his brother shared a look.

"Why didn't you ask for help earlier?" Chet's brother asked. I opened my mouth to answer before I realized that I really didn't have one.


	11. Chapter 11

**Well, it sure has been quite a long time. I must say I feel rather guilty, and I'll endeavor to do better. This chapter is from Pipsqueak's point of view. Please read and enjoy!**

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><p>I was doing just as the Lorax instructed: watching. I watched my human as he lay motionless on his bed, breathing heavily sometimes, lightly others.<p>

I watched. I watched for anything that might change in his manner; a cough, a shift, perhaps he'd open his eyes. Nothing. The minute something happened, though, I'd be off like a shot to tell Melinda, the Swomee-Swan waiting outside for any news. She was to fly in the direction the Lorax had gone and tell him just as soon as I had finished telling her. But nothing was happening yet.

I curled up at his side, careful not to jostle him or fall asleep myself. I'll admit I was tired, doing all of this watching. It's a tiring thing to do. You keep your eyes open for hours on end without even a little cat nap for relief. Not that I cat nap, no. I Bar-ba-loot nap. It's a whole different thing.

I was startled into sitting up straight. What was that noise? Glancing at my human, I slowly left the bed and crept over to the door for a peek outside. Hm, the sun was rising. Had I been up all night? No wonder I was tired. It was a rather nice day as well; the shining reddish sun of the morning hours, Truffula trees blowing in a light breeze... I rhymed. _And_ I commented on the weather. I needed sleep.

A movement a small ways away caught my eye. It looked orange, short, tall, and split into three different parts as it came closer. The Lorax! Finally! I had better not let him catch me not watching, or he might get angry. I scrambled back into the tent and hopped up onto the bed, landing as lightly as I possibly could so as not to jostle the mattress. No change.

If I had any concept of time, I would have said it was approximately five minutes later that the Lorax arrived with two new humans that I had never before seen. They looked exactly alike, and it took me a moment to realize that I was not, in fact, seeing double from a major lack of sleep. The Lorax took me up into his arms while the two look-alikes went up to my human's bed, one of them dropping the bag he was carrying on the floor and unzipping it. What were they doing? What were they going to do? I attempted to worm my way out of the Lorax's vise-like grip to no avail.

"Calm down," the Lorax whispered in my ear. I paused for only a moment before returning to my struggles. The Lorax held on tighter. I considered biting him, but I didn't enjoy the thought of being reprimanded for my actions, so I thought better of it.

"Seriously, Pipsqueak, I'm gonna make you wait outside." I froze. The Lorax relented his grip slightly so I could breathe. "That's better," he said. I resumed my previous duty, and watched. After a few minutes (again, speaking as though I had a grasp on the complexities of time), I pointed at the two humans that looked so much alike. One of them removed a small glass tube with red stuff in it from my human's mouth and looked at it. What he was doing, I had no clue. The Lorax didn't understand what I was getting at. I pointed again, first at the twin-guy on the right, then at the twin-guy on the left. Then I shrugged. The Lorax looked at me in mild confusion for a moment before it hit him.

"Oh," he said. "They're his brothers." I believe that my eyes widened considerably at that. They didn't look much alike. Maybe a bit in the face, but they weren't nearly as tall as my human.

I tried once more to slip away from the Lorax, and this time he allowed me to drop the two centimeters to the floor. Crawling cautiously over to the newcomers, I gently tugged on one of their pant legs. He looked down as though a tarantula (whatever _that_ is) was crawling up his leg. Once he got over the initial shock though, I think he liked me. He patted my head, then turned back to my human as I wandered over to the other one. He reacted much the same way. I decided then that I liked them. They were all right guys, and they may or may not be my human's siblings, which could be considered a plus.

I watched them intently as they fussed. I wasn't sure what steam from boiling water would do, or what those small yellow hard things that came out of a tin were, but they made my human eat them when he woke up. I must admit that I almost started laughing at the look on his face when he opened his eyes to find two more people in the tent. I couldn't really place the exact emotions conveyed, but it made for an interesting facial expression. I saw the Lorax smirk out of the corner of my eye when it happened.

I was finally allowed to crawl back onto the bed to check on him myself after what felt like a long, long time. I'm not sure that I wasn't able to before, nobody said I couldn't, but I got the feeling it would be better if I didn't intrude. However, the two new guys had gone outside for some reason I hadn't caught while they were telling the Lorax, and I didn't find any harm in crawling up over the sheets. My human was sleeping again, though much less fitfully now. I nudged my way under one of his arms and curled up beside him, deciding that now was as good a time as any to finally get that sleep I'd worked so hard for. I let the sound of his less-hitched breathing reassure me that now that his brothers (or so the Lorax claimed; personally, I'd never believe it) were here with their backpack full of glass tubes and miracle-working yellow things, he was well on his way to recovery.


	12. Chapter 12

**Once-ler's POV**

That awful haze that had fogged up my mind for the past few gruelling hours was finally beginning to clear away. I had probably noticed it long before waking up, but much as people do when waking, I forgot. Ergo, I woke up to a rather pleasant surprise. My headache didn't pound when I took in the bright colours of the sun playing across my tent's canvas structure. My throat wasn't quite so painfully scratchy, and I actually felt as though I might be able to eat something more substantial than day-old soup.

I raised the palm of my hand to my forehead, noting that my temperature had gone down very slightly. It was hardly noticeable, but when one's had a fever for a few days, one tends to become aware of these things.

"Hey, look who's awake!" The jovial voice of the Lorax shook me from whatever notion of sleep I may still have retained, and I lifted my head to meet his gaze.

"How're ya feeling, Beanpole?" He asked. I blinked. He was sitting down comfortably at the end of my bed, looking at me with a mixed expression of concern and relief. I didn't bother to attempt the use of my voice; even if I was able to talk now, my mouth was far too dry to form coherent words. I flopped my head back onto the pillow and raised my arm to offer him a thumbs up.

"Yeah, sure," the Lorax smirked. I didn't actually see the smirk, per say, but I could certainly feel the miasma of a disbelieving smirk originating from his general direction. That wasn't even true. I just imagined he smirked and took it for truth. Seemed like something he'd do. Sighing ever-so-slightly, I was surprised and a bit relieved to find that I didn't break down into a coughing fit as a result. I sat up with less trouble than it had taken me for days prior, glancing over to the small side-table that had been set up to the right of my bed. Atop it was an open tin of honey-lemon throat lozenges, a dull pencil, a pad of paper, and a bottle of pills. I vaguely remembered several of the lozenges being forced into my mouth by my brothers upon waking for the first time after passing out, and though I appreciated their aid in my continuing state of recovery, it would have been nice if they had allowed me to actually wake up enough to be aware of what the heck was going on at the time. Speaking of...

"Whoa!" The Lorax nearly tumbled off the bed, digging his furry fingers into the quilt in an attempt to find some form of grip as the door slammed open, the force of it sending the whole tent shaking. I nearly laughed, pleasantly surprised to find my larynx allowed a small noise to escape (albeit a somewhat squeaky and incoherent noise that sounded more like a mouse dying than an attempted verbal conveyance of humour). Chet and Brett burst in, roughhousing all the way. I was a bit irked as they routinely knocked over most of the delicately balanced kitchenware that the Bar-ba-loots had evidently been experimenting with while I was out like a light. I sighed, coughing slightly (to my chagrin). Oh well, I couldn't expect myself to have completely recovered after only two days. Or maybe it was three days? Four? I couldn't really rely on my sense of time, I'd been asleep for the most part.

"Hey! Beanpole! Are ya listening?" I looked up, realizing I'd been completely out of it... once again. The Lorax was looking at me curiously, the worry having seeped from his mind gradually over the past few days as he observed my recovery closely. I nodded in response, thought about it, and then shook my head.

"Yeah, didn't think so."

"What?" I said. Or at least, I attempted to say. My throat rewarded me with a wheezing sound and a cough, at which both Brett and Chet laughed. They had set about preparing a meal of sorts; they'd been pretty well ignoring me aside from the occasional lame verbal jab or taunting laugh since I'd started insisting I could continue to care for myself on my own. Nothing unusual there. One of them shoved a steaming mug of hot water into my hands before going back to help the other with the cooking. I took a moment to properly balance it before looking back to the Lorax expectantly. He watched my brothers with a sort of reserved confusion before remembering that he had been talking to me. Surprising. I didn't think anything could make him forget to blab his chatty mouth off.

"Oh, right, uh, I was gonna ask ya something," he said a bit offhandedly, glancing at my brothers again. I raised my eyebrows slightly in question, breathing in the steam from the mug of hot water I held clutched in my hands.

"Are they...?" He motioned to Brett and Chet with one hand while making a circle around his ear with the other; well, where his ear would be if he had any visible ears. I nearly dropped the mug in my lap, my silent laughter reverting to coughs. Once the fit had passed, I kept a hand placed firmly over my mouth, grinning as I nodded. The Lorax looked at me disbelievingly, probably incredulous that I found this very serious question of his so funny, and confused about my answer. My brothers hadn't even turned around, evidently used to my intermittent coughing fits by now. Not really surprising. I took a lozenge from the tin on the bedside table and placed it under my tongue to discourage the scratchiness of my throat. I was honestly feeling quite tired again after only having been awake for... well, less than an hour. This was getting ridiculous. I sighed, the Lorax giving me an annoyingly knowing look. I snatched up the paper and pencil and scribbled down a note, shoving it in the fuzzy, mustachioed meatloaf's face. He swung his arms about wildly before managing to snatch onto the paper, giving me a reprehensive look. I tried not to smile in amusement. I failed.

"Hmf," the Lorax huffed, turning his furry orange back and swinging his feet over the side of the bed to read the note as he dropped to the floor. He paced around as he studied the paper, working to decipher the strange little squiggle groups known as words. After about thirteen seconds, he looked at me with an eyebrow raised, not believing me in the slightest. I didn't expect him to, but if it got him off my case for a few seconds (as it had) then I was perfectly fine with it.

"Of course you're tired! It's obvious!" The Lorax's little outburst made Chet turn around inquisitively, though he only remained interested for about two and a half milliseconds. The Lorax, however, continued staring at me sternly. I rolled my eyes and flopped down on the pillows again, closing my eyes and hoping my denial along the lines of being tired would make him – for once – take the hint and leave me be to sleep. And for once – to my complete and utter surprise – he did.


End file.
